


between thinking and breathing

by elderflowergin



Series: two-headed dragon [5]
Category: Hyena (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hands Touching Hands, Legal Feats, Loss of Parent(s), Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderflowergin/pseuds/elderflowergin
Summary: Yoon Hee-jae never stands alone, even when he is.
Relationships: Jung Geum Ja/Yoon Hee Jae
Series: two-headed dragon [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882501
Comments: 14
Kudos: 22





	between thinking and breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefeastandthefast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefeastandthefast/gifts).



> Thank you, feast, for working your magic and being the best hypewoman! All mistakes that remain are mine.

Geum-ja was working late one Friday when Hee-jae appeared at her door.

“Is this a good time?” he asked. His voice sounded even, but there was a telltale tremble in his hand on the door jamb. “I’m --” 

She came out from behind her desk, mildly alarmed. “Is everything okay?” 

“Father’s not doing well, and -- I’m going to go over now, but I was practising,” he rambled, distracted. “Talk to Sang-mi for me -- I have no idea when or how, and I know I have hearings next week - I’m not even sure how long I’ll be gone for -” 

Geum-ja nodded. “Don’t worry about the office. Which hospital? I’ll drive.” 

He shook his head. “I’m fine. I can drive. My car’s here,” he said, patting his pockets. 

“Hee-jae,” she said, looking up at him, voice firm. “I’ll drop your car off later. I’ll drive you.” 

\---

The firm was in controlled chaos by Monday. The Chief Justice’s condition deteriorated steadily and Yoon Hee-jae did not leave his side. 

Geum-ja sat down with Yi-jun and Sang-mi to strategise around handling the next two weeks’ worth of Hee-jae’s hearings. To their credit, they looked only mildly shell-shocked as she took in information, asked questions and rapidly reassigned files that required handling. 

Mr Na raised his hand cautiously. “Ms Jung, I can handle some of this,” he said. “Really. I can step in for Yoon-byun.” 

Geum-ja gave him an absent smile as she collected the files into a rough pile and handed them to Sang-mi. “Yi-jun. I don’t doubt your capabilities, and there is something to be said for being thrown into the deep end. I do that myself, but that’s not Mr Yoon’s style and I respect that.” 

“Nevertheless, if something can’t be delayed, I’ll do it. Under supervision,” he added in a hurry. Geum-ja nodded, relenting. 

Sang-mi handed her a bag. “Ms Jung, this was in the practice room,” she said. “He left everything behind except for his car keys. Will you give it to him, later?” 

She opened the bag after they left. The brushed steel of his watch strap clinked in her hands. The watch face was unusually convex - an old design, she thought - and while the metal was a close match for the strap, it was clearly a later addition. Geum-ja carefully put it in her handbag. 

\--

When Gi-hyeok called, he sounded more nervous than usual, tripping over words here and there. He spoke with enough clarity for Geum-ja to glean that the dregs of Song & Kim were nasty enough to file for an emergency injunction against one of Hee-jae’s biggest clients as former Chief Justice Yoon lay in the hospital, close to death. 

“That cannot possibly be true,” she said, although as she said it, she knew it was not unlikely at all. 

The loss of Song Pil-jung had rendered Song & Kim adrift; without his relentless, ruthless power-broking to back them up, all they had were Mr Ma’s mean, petty tactics. Geum-ja was used to that, they all were; but this was a new low. The one thing they all could rely on - in the midst of professionally detesting one another’s guts - was that it came to a stop if grief or loss or illness was involved, no questions asked. 

This was beyond the pale. Quietly filing an application for an emergency injunction - she didn’t have to check the timing to know that it was just after Chief Justice Yoon’s deteriorating condition was reported in the news - _in expectation_ that a lawyer might be too occupied with grieving to pay close attention - was just ghoulish. And more criminal than that, _unstrategic_. 

“Can you get Miss Boo and Mr Kim to meet me later today,” she texted Ji-eun. 

\---

“We should just ask to delay it,” advised Mr Kim later, with a shrug. “No judge would refuse it. Not now that he’s just passed away, even for an emergency injunction, with the timing being so suspicious.” 

Hyeon-a nodded from where she leaned against the glass partition. “I agree. It would be a really bad look.” 

She sat behind her desk, deep in thought. “It’s Judge Choi, though,” and both Mr Kim and Hyeon-a exclaimed in exasperation. 

Judge Choi was notably sociopathic, the sort of judge who found amusement in minor cruelties and was not given to kindness. Mr Ma wasn’t particularly strategic, but he knew how to pick them. 

Hyeon-a looked contemplative. “You know, he’s also a bit of a sleazebag. I don’t mind going before him. It might buy you more time.” 

Geum-ja ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “I don’t think the delay would be long enough to allow him to do it,” she said, looking at both of them in turn. “We might have to prepare to do it on our own.” 

They both looked horrified. “The documents alone -” said Mr Kim with a frown, “It’s not something you could do on your own, and definitely _not_ at short notice. There’s hundreds of pages to read.”

“If we carry on, and we can’t win,” Hyeon-a added, “Song & Kim will be digging into every bank account, every document, every single transaction Mr Yoon’s biggest client has ever entered into.” 

Geum-ja paced the room, weighing her options. “But _they’re_ not prepared, are they? They wouldn’t be, because they’re banking on Hee-jae wanting to delay. What if we took them at their word? What are the odds they’re actually ready?”

There was silence around them as her words sank into Hyeon-a and Mr Kim. 

“Well,” said Mr Kim. “If anyone could do it, it would have to be you. I’ll get Mr Na to start preparing the documents for you.” He left the room, texting away on his phone. 

Hyeon-a was very quiet. 

“There’s something you want to say,” said Geum-ja finally, when the silence became conspicuously weighted. “What is it?” 

She looked thoughtful as she replied. “You two haven’t shared a common client in years. You don’t even give seminars at the same conferences. I thought it was intentional.” 

Geum-ja said nothing. She picked up her phone, ready to issue Ji-eun instructions. “Are you both going to the hospital now?” 

Hyeon-a looked perplexed, and she leaned against Geum-ja’s table, right next to where she sat. “You’re not coming?” she asked softly. 

“I have to read whatever Mr Na gives me,” Geum-ja replied, checking her emails. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“It’ll take you fifteen minutes. Your clothes are fine. I’ll drive you there and back.” 

Geum-ja threw her head back against her chair’s neck-rest and sighed. “Hyeon-a, I can’t see him now, because I have to focus on this. Do you understand?” 

Hyeon-a tilted her head. A curl escaped from her bun; Geum-ja tucked it back in place, swift and gentle. Hyeon-a’s face softened and she nodded.

“Will you talk to him, then? I’ll explain it to him and put you on the line with him.” 

\---

Geum-ja was reading her fourth binder of submissions, head swimming with numbers and dates. It would have been fine if she’d been in on the file since the start; it was significantly harder to hit the ground running with a day’s notice. Mr Na was competent, prompting her and drawing diagrams to explain some of the tougher, more detailed issues, but he wasn’t ready to take on something this major. 

Her phone rang. 

“Ms Jung? I have Mr Yoon here with me. We’re in a room, I’ll put you on speaker now,” Hyeon-a announced. 

“Hey, it’s me,” said Hee-jae, voice steady. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

Geum-ja gave him a quick rundown of the injunction. 

“Do you need me to come back now? I can if you -” Geum-ja heard a squeaking sound - a door opening, she realised - and she heard a third voice over the phone. “ - nothing, just a matter that might be moving up for hearing in about forty-eight hours. Jung-byun is on the line.”

“I heard,” said Yoon Hyeok-jae, sounding calm and unhurried. “This is just base harassment, Hee-jae. If I make a call, someone can talk to Judge Choi.” 

“Do you really think Judge Choi or Song & Kim don’t know the facts here? It’s precisely why they’re doing it, Judge Choi included, if I’m honest, he’s never liked Father.” 

Geum-ja sighed. When they argued, it looked like two usually-competent fencers suddenly finding themselves stumbling over their own feet. “Judge Yoon, if you think a call might help, please go ahead. Hee-jae, we have to be prepared if he doesn’t agree to delay this.”

There was a long, weighted pause. “I can come back in forty-eight hours, if Hyeon-a can’t delay it.”

“Hyeon-a,” interjected Geum-ja. “Take me off speaker and pass the phone to Mr Yoon for a moment.” 

“Hey,” he said, softly, exhaustion seeping into the edges of his voice. 

“Have you slept at all in the past week?” 

“What do you think,” he replied, sounding undone, like he was leaning against a wall or a door for support. “I don’t even know what day it is anymore.” 

“Do you trust me?” she asked. “It doesn’t work unless you do.” 

There was no hesitation. “Yes. Always.” 

“I’ll do it,” she said, after a brief pause. “I’ve got everything here, and Yi-jun to brief me. If Hyeon-a can buy me some time, I can do it.”

He considered her words. “You would be undoing a lot of groundwork.” 

“There was always going to be a point where it’d be untenable. Hee-jae? What do you need right now?” 

When he finally spoke, he sounded like himself again. “I need you to be a lawyer,” he replied, dignified and resolute. “Would that be agreeable?”

She smiled. “It would be an honour.” 

\---

Even Hyeon-a’s beautiful face could only accomplish so much, and she rang in later in the afternoon to complain that Judge Choi refused to adjourn the matter, or delay it. 

“Apparently it ‘wouldn’t be much of an emergency injunction if I delayed it, would it Miss Boo?’ Ugh, what a vile man. But he’s given you three days. Can I help?” 

Geum-ja stood before her board, filled with Ji-eun’s neat print alongside her own chicken scrawl (Ji-eun had to decipher it for Mr Na). “Well, that’s 24 more hours than I was prepared to have. I do need your help with an outfit, though,” she said, ringing off. 

\---

If anyone were to ask Jung Geum-ja later what transpired in those three days, she wouldn’t have been able to answer the question. She didn’t remember eating, although she was certain Ji-eun would have stuffed something in her direction; she took forty-five minute power naps on the couch in her office instead of wasting precious time by actually sleeping at night . She retained nothing of what she’d read in those three days after the hearing concluded. 

Hyeon-a brought in a suit that she barely looked at until she had to shower and get dressed. “He doesn’t like mobile phones, by the way. Leave it behind, or turn it off when you go in.” 

“How do I tell the time, then?” 

Hyeon-a looked at her like she’d grown horns. “There are clocks in the courtroom, sunbae,” she said, unusually delicate as she sat down and started texting. 

Geum-ja rolled her eyes, then turned off her phone before popping it in her handbag. 

Hee-jae’s watch stared up at her from the recesses of her messy handbag; Geum-ja took it out, brushing a thumb over the watch face. It jostled against her wallet, shawl and the myriad other things she kept in there.

“I should have sent it with you,” she said, offhand. “It’s going to get scratched like this.” 

Hyeon-a was busy on her phone and barely batted an eyelid. “Funny,” she commented, looking up momentarily. “I always thought Yoon-sunbae’s tastes ran more -- modern.” 

“He’s strange like that,” murmured Geum-ja thoughtfully. 

\---

It was probably Ji-eun’s turn for an intervention, because she twisted her fists around, clearly uncomfortable with what she was about to ask. “Do you want to go to the hospital, boss? We can stop there first, if you’d like.”

She raised her head from where it’d been lying on her table. “No, not yet,” she said. “I’ll finish this, and then I’ll go. I promised him.” She must have repeated that several times over the past few days; it was almost starting to sound talismanic to her ears. 

Ji-eun nodded with some amount of understanding. “We should leave in half an hour if we want to make it on time,” she reminded, before going back to her desk. 

\---

Mr Ma waited outside the courtroom when she, Mr Na, and Ji-eun approached in formation. True to form, he looked as though he’d choked on a lemon. 

“What are _you_ doing here,” he asked, under his breath. He looked a little flustered; Geum-ja found that quite enjoyable. 

“Doing the hearing, Mr Ma. I hope you’re ready to move forward.” 

He looked around, obviously troubled. “You’ll ask for it to be delayed, right? We won’t object if you do.” 

Geum-ja gave him a dazzling smile. Mr Ma flinched at it, like she’d just put hooks in him and yanked. “How generous of you, Mr Ma. Or have events overtaken you?” 

“You don’t even like him,” he spat, a bitter smile on his face. “Are you trying to destroy his career for once and for all?”

Her mouth quirked up at the edges as she pushed past him. 

\---

“Counsel, I’ve never had you argue before me. I’ve heard _stories_ ,” declared Judge Choi with a reptilian smile. He might have been charming once; it’d curdled over the years into an unpleasant, persistent oiliness. 

“Your Honour, the pleasure is all mine,” she replied with a deferential bow, hoping that between the Dior Concorde on her lips and her skirt suit Judge Choi might be extra obliging. 

“It’s delightful. Well, what is it Mr Ma?”

Mr Ma flipped a page and gestured at Geum-ja dismissively. “Perhaps Ms Jung would like to start.” 

Judge Choi laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Aren’t you the applicant’s lawyer, Mr Ma? I’m not running a chess tournament. Tell me what your client wants.” 

“We understand that the respondent’s lawyer is indisposed. We would be agreeable to deferring this matter for two weeks.” 

Judge Choi flipped his copy of the submissions shut. “Surely that young man can carry on for Mr Yoon, if that’s what you’re delicately trying to get at, Mr Ma. Oh, you’re trying to be _kind_. What kind of precedent would that set, hmm, Mr Ma? Waiting three _weeks_ for an injunction? Oh, no sir. I think you’ll carry on today. I trust you’re ready - you _did_ file your papers, after all,” he said smoothly. “Ms Jung, will that young man be taking over, then? I would be sad to be deprived of the opportunity to see you in action.” 

Geum-ja suppressed a shiver from the adrenaline. Here goes nothing, she thought, as she put on her best company woman smile. 

“No, your honour. I’m here for Mr Yoon Hee-jae. We’re ready.” 

\---

Geum-ja endured three more days of trial-induced hyperfocus; her adrenaline at an all-time high, all utilitarian needs more or less forgotten. Ji-eun kept her going, insisting she eat and rest, but Geum-ja could not, not until she was done. She saw no one, perceived nothing outside that courtroom, her opposing counsel, the witnesses and Judge Choi; it was a peculiar but useful myopia. 

(She would process, at a much later date, what it meant that there was a constant rotation of young prosecutors in the room - all from the same division; the prosecution service held a watching brief - unusual, but not completely unprecedented; the mystery that Ji-eun never needed to step outside the building for photocopies, that she kept getting small notes in the margins of her originals about cases and facts that she may have missed. 

She’d think about it much, much later; she never so much as saw Prosecutor Kwon’s face, but she had no doubt he was there, doing whatever he could so she could do what he could not for Yoon Hee-jae.)

They were into closing arguments, close to seven or eight pm, when Judge Choi smiled awkwardly. “Well, what a pleasure, Mr Yoon. My deepest condolences, of course.”

Hee-jae walked directly down the centre line, bowed at the judge and took the seat behind her, in the gallery. In her peripheral vision, she could see he was wearing a black cardigan over his white shirt; he’d settled for spectacles, an uncommon sight. His hair was soft and curling slightly. 

He placed a hand on the back of her chair, expression unchanged; she momentarily covered his with her own, turning slightly in her chair, head still bowed and gaze averted from him. 

Judge Choi took only a few minutes - what he lacked in general humanity, he made up for in promptness. 

“You know I’m not granting the injunction, Mr Ma. Bad form,” he said, halfway between a scold and a flirt. “Costs to the respondent, so go get your pound of flesh, Ms Jung. Or Mr Yoon, as the case may be. What an absolute pleasure this was, Ms Jung. Don’t stay too far away from my courtroom,” he said, head tilted as he banged his gavel and slithered away, leaving the lawyers to bow, pack up and exit. 

She did not register it at first when she sat back down; she did not see Mr Ma sitting or Hee-jae issuing instructions to Ji-eun and Yi-jun. He came to stand right next to her; she stood up, finally looking at him. 

His face was slack, line-worn with exhaustion; his spectacles did nothing to hide the hollows beneath his eyes. He didn’t move with his usual grace; he was uncertain in his gait, as though he were a lay person and not an experienced lawyer who usually traversed these rooms like he owned them. 

Nonetheless, his mouth curved upwards at her - an anchor in choppy waters - and she held onto it. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said to him. It would have sounded like a reprimand on another day. “I should have come to you first -” 

“We can talk about that later. Your ride’s out there,” he replied, offering his hand.

She paused. 

There were people around them. They hadn’t so much as been seen in the same room in three years. It was the driving strategy of everything they’d done. It had all shifted the moment she called him and asked, _do you trust me_ , and the fool replied _yes, always._

He stood patiently, as if he was aware she was calculating something. 

Jung Geum-ja was an orphan, objective fact. She’d acquired parents, and then lost them both after a fashion. In all of that, she’d never stopped being an orphan. But she’d had practice, at least; what did Yoon Hee-jae know about being alone in the world?

She’d reconcile it another day, she mused, taking a deep breath, and his outstretched hand, in that order. 

Mr Ma’s eyes went saucer-wide; the remaining two prosecutors at the back bowed politely as they walked by hand-in-hand. 

He led her out, down an empty corridor and into a lift lobby that was used by the court employees. He had a special pass in his hand, she realised; these doorways and lifts were not normally accessible to them. 

They leaned against the back wall, sides touching despite being the only people in the enormous elevator. “I’ve never been in this lift before.” 

“We’re going up to Father’s old office,” he replied. “I wanted to pick up something, if you don’t mind.” 

“Why are you even here?"

He stood with his arms folded, head slightly bowed as if he’d been preoccupied with something else. Then he looked over the top of his glasses at her. 

“Well, people would not stop telling me about this woman who was standing in Court 5, three days in a row, refusing to eat or sleep until she’d won my injunction hearing. It got annoying after a point, and hyung insisted that I come and collect you. Mind you, that was the only reason I _didn’t_ want to come at first.” 

She smiled at that. “How was my closing? I should ask, it was for your client.” 

Hee-jae smiled then, a brilliant flash of sunlight. “I know you’re not a fan of diamonds, but how about sapphires? Rubies, rubies are good too. I like emeralds, but they’re a bit brittle -”

For the first time in days, Geum-ja actually felt lost in the conversation. “What are you talking about?” 

He pressed the button to the top floor. “If you were the marrying sort, I’d have proposed,” he said simply. “So which is it?” 

They’d exchanged this joke several times over the years, but there was something about his cadence that made it land less like a joke. Perhaps it was that for the first time, she didn’t find it in her to have an answer. 

“It’s not as funny as it was in my head, I think. By the way, I haven’t seen you in a skirt in years,” he commented, changing the subject. 

“Judge Choi likes women in skirts. Hyeon-a dressed me today. The lipstick was her idea too,” she said with a yawn. 

The lift door opened and they moved apart. There was just one office on this floor, and one other room. 

An elderly man waited outside the office; he greeted Hee-jae effusively and held his hands. “Thank you,” she heard him say, formal and respectful, before ushering her into the Chief Justice’s office. 

The room was not particularly large; it had a single door off to the side that led to the Supreme Court. She could see the angled wooden panels with the screens set in them; the nine spaces for the justices. 

Geum-ja had sat in the gallery before. She’d worn her best suit, walked past the security gantry and sat at the back, a first-year lawyer listening to a string of appeals. 

It’d felt alien to her then, even if she objectively understood its import. To her, justice was a capricious beast that lived behind giant walls; and she’d spent much of her early career battering away at the gate with every inch of her might. 

Geum-ja had made a bargain, long before she’d truly understood what she’d given over. She watched a murderer escape before her eyes; and so she offered herself instead - constructing her airtight case, weapon, act and her own body in place - stringing her bow, in the insane hope that the arrow would find its home. 

She thought of Hee-jae’s grandfather, the man who’d first sat in this seat, and would define it for decades to come; how often he had placed his body between justice and the people who needed it - and how things changed in the space of a generation. She envied Hee-jae many things, but not in this; in unravelling this knot, in living up to the unmatchable sacrifices of the past and reconciling them with the failures of the present. 

She didn’t notice Hee-jae quietly observing her the entire time, and walked towards the door. “I’m sorry. Did you get what you needed? We can go back to the hospital.” 

The side of his mouth quirked almost imperceptibly and he pointed to another door. It looked like it might lead to a bathroom. “That’s our exit,” he said, opening the door as he offered his hand. It was another lift lobby.

“Why are we here?” she asked, taking his offered hand. 

“We’re taking the Chief Justice’s private lift because there’s a press scrum outside the public entrance,” he said. “I took the driver today; he’s waiting in the basement carpark. I’m done at the hospital for the day.” He turned to look at her. “Come home with me, will you? Just to rest.” 

“I haven’t paid my respects,” she said. “I have to do that first.” 

“We’ll stop on the way,” he answered readily. “I have to leave the driver back with the family.” 

She didn’t let go of his hand till they arrived at the car, and that was the first thing she reached for when they were settled inside. 

“You look a lot more like your father like this," she said. “I wouldn’t have noticed the resemblance before." 

He said nothing in return; but his mouth curved at the corners and his brows furrowed. 

\----

“Can we stop on the bridge, just for a moment? Do you mind?” asked Hee-jae, as casually as he could.

Geum-ja nodded, pulled over to the side of the road and got out with him. 

He looked out at the water, arms folded. Geum-ja leaned against the railings next to him, facing the road. There was a faint breeze, carrying the river-silt-smells up the banks; it rifled through the soft strands of his hair. 

They stood in silence for minutes: Geum-ja watching the traffic, sporadic at this hour; Hee-jae gazing out at the water. 

He turned to her. “We should get going. You must be exhausted.” 

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” she demurred, making no move to leave. 

It was a chilly night on the bridge, and Hee-jae’s sweater - while fashionable - seemed insubstantial. He didn’t shiver, but Geum-ja took off her coat anyway, hands draping it over his shoulders and tucking the fabric. It was just as well that she was still in her heels. 

“You don’t have,” he started, then trailed off, as if lost in thought. 

Her fingers rested briefly at his elbows, pausing in her work. “My suit’s wool,” she reassured him. He pulled her hands in almost absently. 

His mouth moved as though he was trying to form the right words for her; his voice sounded dry and raspy when he spoke again, as though he hadn’t spoken in years and was out of practice. 

“It’s so heavy. I didn’t think it would feel _heavy_. With Mother -- it wasn’t like this.” 

“One step at a time,” she murmured against his shoulder. “One foot in front of the other.” 

His fingers brushed past her wrist, and stopped abruptly. 

Geum-ja breathed. At this proximity, he could certainly feel the goosebumps raised on her skin. 

“You’re wearing my watch,” he stated. 

“I was afraid it was going to get scratched in my handbag,” she replied, making to unstrap it. “Here -” 

He stopped her then, his hand firmly grasping her wrist at the clasp. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling, since it pressed her closer to the warmth of his body. “Hee-jae, let go,” she said softly. “Let me take it off.” 

“It’s Dad’s.” he replied, voice thick. “It’s -- keep it on for a while, will you?” 

She looked at him in the eye and nodded in understanding; Hee-jae let go then. “Do you want to tell me how you came to wear it?” 

Hee-jae smiled then, a distant, faraway thing; he flexed his fingers on the railings. “I inherited my mother’s ring. My brother received this from Dad. We exchanged when he decided to propose.” 

“That watch,” he said, gesturing his head at it, “was an engagement present from my mother to my father.” 

She blinked at that furiously and tried to draw her hand back but Hee-jae grasped it, pre-empting her. 

“Yoon Hee-jae,” she said, in warning. 

“Hmmm?” 

“This is an _heirloom_. I might break it!” 

“And?” 

“Take it back,” she said. 

He shook his head, fighting back a smile. “The story, or the watch? Neither, at this point. Let’s go,” he said, taking her coat off and putting it back on her shoulders as they walked back to her car. 

\---

They fell asleep on his sofa, not even making it to his bed. Geum-ja woke up long enough to prod him, sleep-clumsy, to the bedroom, where he simply slumped sideways onto his pillow. She picked his legs off the floor and placed them on the bed, covered him, then passed out again next to him.

\---

Geum-ja had never actually been to the Yoon family home. Hee-jae invited her every year for their large, staid Christmas parties, but she’d always found an excuse not to be there. She knew he could perceive her apprehension; it didn’t stop him from trying. 

Choi Soo-jin was in a black sheath, carrying a well-behaved Yoon baby as she answered the door. 

“Thank you, Ms Jung,” she said, sounding harried. “He doesn’t want to come out of his room, and I honestly didn’t know who else to call.”

The house was large, with airy ceilings and a garden at the back. It was well-maintained, all dark wood and ivory walls. It wasn’t drearily modern in the way of some of her clients’ homes; no conspicuous walls of glass or modern art for the Yoon family. The only art hung here was an item of calligraphy; the shelves were lined with law books and reports. 

She was familiar with Judge Yoon’s wife; Soo-jin worked in the school system, and Geum-ja had represented one of her students in youth court. Hee-jae would have done it, but he was terrified of teenagers, and would have probably not survived one who was also an unrepentant vandal. 

Soo-jin stopped by the dining room - the informal, smaller family one - and asked the housekeeper for coffee. “I know you don’t take breakfast, just like Hee-jae,” she said, moving with an admirable economy. 

Geum-ja could not resist. “Is Clarice away on tour?”

Soo-jin gave Geum-ja the side-eye at that. “She sent a very lovely floral arrangement, but she doesn’t seem like the sort who’d be up for this, does she?” 

Geum-ja gave her a distant smile. “I’m sure that’s not the case.” 

Soo-jin looked at her square in the face and spoke with an assertive frankness that had probably cowed many a trenchant teen. “I will call that girl when I need a song about getting spanked, but I need someone to get him out of his room and to his father’s memorial service, so he needs you.” Their housekeeper came in then with the coffee, which she handed to Geum-ja. “Drink up. I’ll bring more.” 

Yoon Hyeok-jae walked into the dining room, looking a little confused. “I thought I heard voices. I told her not to call you,” he said with a sigh, frowning at his wife. “It’s mentions court today, and I know you attend that yourself.” 

“It’s fine, Your Honour. I had someone else go on my behalf.” 

Soo-jin handed the baby to him. Judge Yoon shrugged, a little hapless and exhausted. "I tried everything. He won't even open the door."

They point her up the stairs and to the end of the hallway to Hee-jae’s room. She rapped the door lightly. 

"Hyeongsonim, please stop knocking," Hee-jae said from behind the door, sounding vexed. 

"It's not Soo-jin," she clarified. 

"Oh." There was a long pause, and then the sound of something - or someone - sliding down the door. 

"You shouldn't have come," he said dully. "It's mentions court day." 

"Mr Na can do it today. The sky won't fall," she assured him, shedding her bag and sitting against the wall outside the door. 

She sat cross-legged for a while, not saying anything. 

“If you must go, it’s fine,” he said. “I’m sorry they thought to call you. My sister-in-law can be overwhelming."

She tapped her knuckle on the door lightly. “Yoon Hee-jae. I’ll sit here with you until you feel like you want to come out. Okay?”

“Aren’t you supposed to give me a pep talk and make me come out? Isn’t that what they pay you the big bucks for? I feel a little shortchanged.” He sounded almost mischievous; almost like himself, without that awful doom in his throat. 

“Pay me, then. Slide a cheque under the door and I’ll give you a good pep talk.” 

He laughed; a genuine if watery sound. 

The door cracked open slightly and his hand inched out, stark-white cuffs undone with the links in his palm. 

“I’m not sure I can afford Jung-byun anyway,” he joked gently, mouth wry and eyes filled with resignation, as though he wasn’t really talking about money anymore.

Geum-ja took the links, careful not to push the door open. She paused to draw back her left sleeve, and then her right where his father's watch rested, and efficiently did his cuffs. 

Hee-jae’s eyes were suspiciously shiny when she looked up at him.

She looked back at his cuffs, tugging lightly to check that they were secure. His hands brushed past her hands - a lingering, if light touch. She threaded the fingers of her left hand with his - tentative, a question mark - and he held her hand like it was the answer. 

He exhaled, a tired, punched-out sound. “I’m not ready to go yet,” he said. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” she murmured. 

\---

“Your fans would be heartbroken -” 

“Oh, shut up -”

“Utterly _shocked_ -” 

“Your theatricality, Yoon-byun-"

“But not as shocked as I am, that you do _not_ , in fact, wear a tracksuit at the track. They even did a photoshoot in that magazine. _Lawyer On The Run_. I remember. Nice Moncler jacket, by the way.”

She stuck her chin out at him. “For your information, that was _athleisure_ , Mr 3rd Hottest Bachelor Under 40, and you know that. You’re just being petty because you weren’t number one. And also because you were wearing the wrong shade of eye concealer in your picture.”

He pouted at that. “You get to number one by campaigning. I had no interest in that. How do you know about the concealer? Did you see the magazine? Wait, did you _buy it_?” 

She rolled her eyes at that. 

It was still dark out when they started. Hee-jae did his stretches as Geum-ja waited, hands on her hips. 

“Don’t you warm up?” he asked, doing a tree pose, for some strange reason. 

“My first round around the track _is_ the warm up.” 

He rolled his eyes at that. “Bold words, Ms Jung,” he said. “Let’s go, then, shall we?” 

“You ready? Stretched out every muscle possible?” she probed. “Sure you haven’t left out an ear, or a finger?” 

“Keep up with me, if you can,” he sassed back. At this distance, he smelled of aftershave and something minty beneath. 

“Enough talking, let’s _run_.” 

He turned to her at the track, face inscrutable. 

“One foot in front of the other, right?”

“One step at a time,” she replied soberly. 

The horizon turned a muted pink, the beginnings of sunrise. 

They started off, Geum-ja just half a step behind him, exhaling fog into the morning air as they ran in perfect step. 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. In case anyone thinks I made up this evil-sounding injunction, it is very much real in common law jurisdictions, if uncommonly used and even less commonly granted. 
> 
> 2\. In the show, Yoon Hee-jae wears a very fresh and shiny Breitling watch and not an heirloom from the 70s. Please excuse this departure from canon!
> 
> 3\. Title from "Trouble Sleeping", by Corinne Bailey Rae. I listened to it on repeat, almost, when I wrote the last two parts of this. 
> 
> 4\. Thank you to anyone who's still reading a niche series in a microniche fandom! I appreciate it <3 We're almost at the end, I promise! 
> 
> 5\. I'm saltr0se over at Tumblr, so please feel free to come over there too!


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